Card Games
by ac-the-brain-supreme
Summary: A couple of Company Men get together once a week to play some sort of card game.


_Okay...this is probably the most cracked-up thing I have written in quite some time. But it was a good escape from studying. I hope you enjoy!_

**ac-the-brain-surpeme does not own Heroes. Just her crack.**_

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_Once a week, a select few members of the Company and it's affiliated oragainizations come together to play poker. Some will win, some will loose._

_These are their stories._

_DUN DUN!!!_

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Bob shuffled the cards and flipped them out, going around in a circle four times, then placed the cards in the center, next to the jackpot. "So, how was everyone's week so far?"

Thompson swung his hand in the air. "Ah...y'know. Killed a few people, scared a few children. Same old, same old."

Claude picked up his cards. "Go' mistaken for some bloke wi'h a screwdriver in a phonebox."

Bennet scratched the side of his face. "Claire is starting to hate me."

"Just wait until she's older" Bob commented.

The Haitian sat there, doing nothing but staring at his cards.

"Yeah, well, I have a feeling that Claire's going to end up a little better than Elle" Bennet said, rotating the cards in his hand.

"A fly caugh' in a spider's web ends up be'er than Elle" Claude commented.

Thompson looked at the two other men. "Come on, now. Elle is a fine young woman. A very pretty young woman." Thompson looked back at his cards. "A very fine, pretty, sexy, hot, beautiful, delicious, spicy, adorable...God, I'd love to fuck her."

Claude laughed. "Yeah. She may be fucked in the 'ead, but that just makes 'er even sexier."

Bob glared at the two. "That's my daughter, you realize?"

"No' really, thank God." Claude said. He placed two cards faced down. Thompson, Bennet, the Haitian, and Bob joined in as well, putting a number of cards in. They added a twenty dollar bill to the pot for every card they traded. Bob passed them each the number of cards they gave up.

"So, Claude, how're your pidgeons?" Bennet asked.

"Oh, like you give a flying fart!"

"Harsh..." Thompson drawled.

"Did something happen to one of them?" Bob leaned forward. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"NO!" Claude shouted. "I don't wan' to bloody talk abou' my birds to the lo' of you! Damn fuckers!" Claude's face scrunched up. "Make me wanna jus'...punch you all in your balls!" Claude slammed his cards face-down. "I fold!"

"Good thing Bennet doesn't have any balls" Thompson muttered.

The Haitian gave them all a short glance.

"What does that mean?" Bennet asked.

The brooding Claude turned to Bennet and shouted, "It means you're pussy-whipped poodle!" Claude went back to brooding.

"I am _not_ pussy-whipped!" Bennet's phone rang. It was playing some sappy love song. It sounded like Barry Manilow. He looked at it. "Oh dear, it's Sandra." He opened it and talked. "Honey? Yes, I'm still with the boys." A pause. "What? Claire's gotten her ears pierced?! B-But I thought we decided that I would be there when that happens!" Another pause. "Well, I have to go home and get pictures of it! Okay? Okay. I'll leave right now. I love you shnooky-wooky-pooky-poo." Bennet hung up. He went back to the table. "Sorry, family emergency. Gotta go." Bennt pulled on his jacket and sprinted out of the room.

"I'm assuming he's folding?" Bob asked Thompson.

Thompson nodded. He looked at his cards. "Well...I'm not sure about you, but I want to know what he had."

Claude picked up the cards. "Bugga had a winning hand!"

"Good thing he left then, huh?" Bob said with a smile.

Thompson sighed. He looked at his hand, then placed it face-down on the table. He took out a cigarette and lit it up. "I don't feel like playing." He looked across the table to the Haitian. "You wanna find a couple of hookers?"

The Haitian said nothing.

"Fine...homo." Thompson gestured to Claude. "You wanna find some hookers?"

"Why do you wan' to find 'ookers?"

"'Cause I'm horny, dammit."

"Well, dear Haitian, it's you and me. You ready?"

The Haitian didn't answer. He just nodded at Bob.

"1...2...3...SHOW!"

Bob and the Haitian showed their cards at the same time. Bob got a pretty good hand. It was three eights and a deuce. The Haitian, though, had four aces.

"Oh...good hand" Bob commented. The Haitian collected all the twenties that had been put into the pot, folded them, and the shoved them into his pocket.

"Lucky homo" Thompson muttered, puffing out some smoke.

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_Review, please! There might be more where this comes from!_


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